


It gets me so down

by maniasquared



Series: Stucky One-Shots and Drabbles [22]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Asgardian Liquor (Marvel), Brainwashing, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Has Panic Attacks, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Confessions, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Multi, Other, Past Abuse, Past Brainwashing, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-03-17 09:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18962122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniasquared/pseuds/maniasquared
Summary: Bucky wipes his eyes, angling himself so his friend won’t see him as tears kept streaming down his face. He sniffles, shaking his head. “I-I stole some of Thor’s happy juice—which the thing’s a total lie—but I drank some and it jus’ made things s’much worse. I came in ‘ere to try ‘n ground myself while you were out, I’m sorry.”So he is drunk…. Steve knows he’s telling the truth; it explains a lot. But he also thinks that there’s more than what he’s being fed and that doesn’t explain anything. Does he press further?Or: Bucky drunkenly confesses something to Steve, something heart-wrenching.





	1. Pick me up now, I need you so bad

**Author's Note:**

> "Tidal waves they rip right through me, tears from eyes worn cold and sad, pick me up now, I need you so bad"
> 
> Titles from "Down" by Blink-182.
> 
> This is un-beta'd.

“Hey, Bucky, could you give me a hand?” Steve calls out when he exits the elevator, his arms at more than full capacity carrying bags of groceries and cleaning supplies and other miscellaneous items they needed. They could honestly have these delivered to them (Tony constantly points this out), but Steve likes to get out of the Avengers’ Tower and be a regular person sometimes, or at least act like one. “Buck?”

There’s no response, which is worrying beyond belief. He takes the load and brings it to the kitchen as quickly as he can without dropping anything. He sets the things on the counter, instantly disregarding them in a hunt for his friend. He doesn’t want to cause an immediate upset by calling on FRIDAY and asking where Bucky is, so he scopes out their shared floor.

Not in the bathroom off of the kitchen. Not in the common area. Not in Bucky’s room or bathroom. Steve hesitantly approaches his own bedroom door and he hears movement behind it. He slowly enters and makes sure to close the door quietly. When he turns around, his heart threatens to shatter into a million pieces.

Bucky lays on Steve’s bed, clutching the comforter and a pillow. Soft crying fills the room. Steve calls out to him, causing him to stiffen up on the mattress. Other than that, the movement stops altogether.

“Steve?” It sounds so broken coming out of his throat, it’s evident he’s been like this for a while. Steve pads over and sits at the foot of the bed, unsure if physical contact is permitted at this time.

“Yeah, it’s me, Buck,” he replies, voice struggling to stay even. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Bucky slurs. Steve can’t tell if it’s because he’s been crying or if he’s been drinking, or both. “I was jus’ havin’ some flashbacks—pretty bad ones—and I….”

“You…?”

Bucky wipes his eyes, angling himself so his friend won’t see him as tears kept streaming down his face. He sniffles, shaking his head. “I-I stole some of Thor’s happy juice—which the thing’s a _total_ lie—but I drank some and it jus’ made things s’much worse. I came in ‘ere to try ‘n ground myself while you were out, I’m sorry.”

So he is drunk…. Steve knows he’s telling the truth; it explains a lot. But he also thinks that there’s more than what he’s being fed and that doesn’t explain anything. Does he press further? He decides not to. “It’s okay, Buck. What can I do to help?”

There’s a pause.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Bucky shudders; he hates how that sounds and he hopes Steve doesn’t take it wrong, even though he _does_ wish he could hold and kiss and make love to his life-long friend. “Like old times?”

Without hesitation, the super soldier responds, “Yeah, sure, of course, Buck.”

Neither move for a long time. Bucky continues crying, though the worst of the wracking sobs are over by now. It’s barely seven in the evening, but it seems like nothing’s going to happen for the rest of the night. Steve feels so utterly useless; he always does whenever the ex-assassin has bad episodes, he can’t help it, yet he knows there’s nothing he can do except wait for it to pass. There’s an awkward silence, heavy in the air, it drives Steve crazy. He asks if he can get Bucky anything to eat or drink to which he gets a feeble shake of the head. He asks if it’s alright if he tidies up in the kitchen if Bucky’s okay being alone for a little bit. He receives a small nod.

Steve frequently ‘tidies up’ when he’s stressed or when his friend falls into a state like this; it keeps his hands and mind busy. It also eases his clean-freak side.

Making his way around their space, Steve’s thankful for the refrigerator and freezer items surviving the mildly warm air of the Tower. Once the most urgent things are put away, he doesn’t rush as fast as he had. Slowly, the food gets put in their respective places and the cleaning supplies are put away, not before some are used, of course. Steve reaches the last bag, dipping his hands in to take out a box and setting it on the granite-top carefully. He was at the store today and saw the cutest Christmas themed mug (Steve thinks it’s a little ridiculous, though, since Halloween was only a week ago and there are already decorations everywhere). He had to get it for Bucky; he couldn’t resist, he loves the way his roommate’s face lights up when he gets surprised with a gift, especially one like this.

He sighs, tonight’s not right to do it. He’ll have to do it tomorrow, or whenever Bucky feels better. It’s okay, he can be patient. He tucks the box away in a place he knows his friend doesn’t pay much attention to. He glances at the clock, which reads just before eight.

He re-enters his bedroom and hopes Bucky might have fallen asleep. He’s met with a bundle of blankets cocooning the man sitting upright on the bed. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy, his nose red and running. The tears are relentless. The wastebasket sitting on the floor next to Bucky is filled with tissues, and more keep getting added. Earlier Steve was suspicious of there being something more, now he’s certain his friend isn’t telling him everything. But why?

“Hey,” he says gently, standing with the door behind him. He doesn’t expect a reply, so he’s not surprised when he doesn’t get one. “Do you want to go to bed now?”

There’s at least a nod.

“Okay, do you need any clothes?” The elder shakes his head. Steve furrows his brows, Bucky’s in comfortable clothes but he still thinks that changing could help. He takes a chance, “Are you sure? I can get them for you, or I can lend you a pair of pajama pants and a shirt.”

He knows from the expression on Bucky’s face that he’s thinking; he gets pretty transparent when he’s having bad days, unlike other days when no one can tell a single thing about the man. Then, shakily: “Sure, if you’re okay with it—okay with me borrowin’, I mean.”

Steve nods, smiling tenderly. He walks over to his closet and pulls out two of each article of clothing. He hands one set to Bucky, who takes it mechanically. Setting it in his lap, he looks at it emptily, but at least the crying has stopped for now. “Do you want help, or do you want me to leave?”

They normally don’t have to separate to change, in fact, Bucky prefers they change together if the event comes up. Steve thinks it has something to do with his anxiety. He really has no clue, Bucky’s thankful for it. Nevertheless, Steve doesn’t want to assume.

“H-help…?” He croaks, lifting his arms like a child. Steve obliges, picking him up to a standing position. He delicately slides off the sweatpants, lightly tapping the man’s thighs one at a time to indicate for him to step out of them. He straightens up and pulls at the hem of his tee shirt, over the head. Once he gets the long sleeve over the weathered muscles, he smooths out Bucky’s hair affectionately. He guides Bucky to sit on the edge of the bed, dragging on the checkered pants until they reached mid-thigh. He guides Bucky up once more, securing the ties on the garment after getting them up all the way to sit on the hips comfortably. Both are hyper-aware that Steve’s hands are close to Bucky’s pelvis. Steve notices that he’s weeping, afraid the act triggered an assault flashback. “Th-thanks, Stevie.”

“It’s no problem, Buck, really,” Steve whispers as he lays the ex-assassin back down under the covers. “Should I change in the bathroom?”

Bucky signals ‘no’ and uses the heel of his hand to rub away the tears. Steve listens, changing from his button-up and slacks into something similar to his counterpart. He scoops up the dirty laundry to set it in the basket. He crawls into bed, careful to leave a lot of distance between the two out of respect.

“Can I turn off the light?” He shifts and pulls the cord on his bedside lamp once he’s given the authority to. The room falls near pitch black as Steve faces the center of the bed once more, mirroring Bucky. “How’re you doing?”

Bucky contemplates what he wants to say, his mind unable to function properly or rationally. “I don’t know.”

Steve presses his lips into a thin line, reeling at what to say next. The elder shifts closer, mildly taking Steve aback. He keeps moving until he’s almost in the middle, he extends his flesh hand, stopping just short of the super soldier’s chest. “What is it, Buck?”

“Can you… can you hold me? Pl-please? I need y—it. I need it so bad,” the man practically begs, eyes still wet with tears.

Steve wordlessly inches forward to meet him halfway, opening his arms for Bucky to bury himself into the large chest. He runs his fingers through the dark strands with one hand as he places the other on Bucky’s lower back, pulling him even closer. It’s just like old times, except the roles are reversed. Bucky’s shaking and Steve tries to comfort him by kissing his temple and rubbing his back. “I won’t let them hurt you again, Buck, I swear. I won’t let them take you away from me again, I promise.” He has to hold back his own tears. “I promise.”

A long silence follows. Then:

“Don’t worry, Steve, they didn’t hurt me that bad,” Bucky poorly reassures. He yawns; his body feels heavy. Drunk as ever, he manages to say, “That pain was nothin’ compared to….” The rest was incomprehensible, he was falling asleep and quickly.

“Hey,” Steve coaxes, lifting his counterpart’s chin so he can get a better look. “What was that? What did you say?”

“I’m sayin’ that I’ve felt worse pain than what they did to me, Stevie.”

“I don’t understand,” the younger’s concern evident in his voice; what doesn’t show is his heightened fear and anxiety and anger at whoever hurt his best friend enough to make HYDRA’s work take any ranking other than first.

“All that torture and abuse—the manipulation and brainwashin’?—that was nothin’, I swear to God.” His already worn eyes drooped as they welled up, threatening to spill. “Nothin’ HYDRA did to me could ever come close to the pain of watchin’ you—watchin’ you fall in love with Peggy…. Nothin’ compares to that, Stevie, absolutely nothin’ at all….”

Steve’s heart seizes in his chest. He can’t fucking breathe. He can’t breathe as if his asthma came surging back, making up for all that lost time. He glances down at Bucky, who’s now fast asleep, and bites his lip to fight off the overwhelming urge to sob and scream. He feels the sting of tears and a muffled, broken noise emerges from his throat. How could he be so stupid? So blind? So goddamn naive? It’s like all these fragments are falling into place like a puzzle, it makes so much sense but at the same time, it makes no sense at all. The way Bucky acted, how he still acts, his demeanor and protectiveness; that’s a clear picture. Steve’s feelings towards his friend are distorted, though. They blend together seemingly without a pattern.

His body could combust at any second, yet he can’t do anything about it with Bucky still curled up in his arms. He doesn’t want to risk waking up Bucky. His thoughts are muddled and race through his head at a frantic and paralyzing rate. So he lays there and lets himself break down quietly. He’s never cried this hard in his life, not even when he thought he’d lost Bucky the first or second or any time. It’s hell for him to have such a necessity to cry so hard, yet need to stay so still and silent. But it can’t be anything near how Bucky felt, it must pale in comparison. The thought only makes it so much worse. In that instant, he feels his heart actually shatter into a million pieces.

Several questions run on a constant loop, causing more apprehension: What does this mean? How does Steve feel about him? What will happen tomorrow when Bucky wakes up? Will he even remember any of it?

And finally: If he doesn’t, does Steve tell him?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t fucking know. He simply, truly doesn’t know.


	2. I'll try to kiss you if you let me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s done it again. Steve can tell from Bucky’s crumpled posture, lack of attentiveness, and slow movements; he remembers the mannerisms like he remembers basic math: Bucky’s drunk. The second day in a row, Steve hopes this doesn’t become a regular occurrence, doesn’t know if he can handle seeing his friend as an alcoholic, seeing his friend hurt so bad.
> 
> When he strolls around the couch and stands in front of Bucky, his mouth forms into a frown. His friend isn’t crying like last night, but that doesn’t make it much easier. He looks to be on the verge of tears, and it breaks Steve’s heart all over again. He didn’t have the chance to speak; Bucky takes the first word.
> 
> “I got out because of you, Stevie.”
> 
> Or: Steve and Bucky have a discussion about their feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The drops of rain they fall all over, this awkward silence makes me crazy, the glow inside burns light upon her, I'll try to kiss you if you let me (this can't be the end)"
> 
> Titles from "Down" by Blink-182.
> 
> This is un-beta'd.

The air is still and quiet. It’s too quiet for Steve’s liking, but that’s because he wants a distraction for his brain to latch onto instead of the restless night he’s having. It’s been hours since Bucky’s drunken confession; in fact, the morning sunlight has begun spilling through the blinds, lighting up the room in a soft glow.

Steve exhales and rubs his itchy eyes with his free hand. The other is trapped underneath Bucky, who hasn’t moved much since falling asleep. He’s still curled up in Steve’s arms as if he’ll never get the chance to do it again. Craning his neck, Steve glances at his alarm clock to check the time. It reads 7:37 in the morning. He’s supposed to meet Natasha for an early morning workout at eight, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to untangle himself without disturbing his friend, and he certainly doesn’t want to wake Bucky up and deal with this mess any time soon.

He tells FRIDAY to send Nat a message saying he can’t make it, and they’ll have to reschedule for another day, using a hushed tone of voice. His head hits the pillow and the silence is unsettling. It crawls beneath his skin and makes him want to tear himself open until it comes back out. Steve feels mocked by it.

He must look like a fucking mess; he’s spent the better half of the night crying and didn’t even get a little sleep. With the way his thoughts have been running a marathon in his head, how could he? Then he realizes if Bucky wakes up and doesn’t remember, he’ll be bombarded with questions because, regardless, his eyes probably look as red and swollen as they feel.

Great.

He needs to get out of bed immediately.

Untangling himself, he tries not to wake his friend. It’s a little difficult since his body was used as a pillow the whole night, but he manages to be successful.

One glance in the mirror is enough to tell he’s been crying the entire night.

While turning on the shower, he hears Bucky shift in the bedroom, the sounds of sheets rustling and springs creaking. Quickly, Steve undresses and steps under the warm stream of water. With a sigh, he begins his normal routine and avoids the screaming in his brain, the one inquiry over and over again.

What does he do with the knowledge that his best friend is in love with him?

Steve tells himself Bucky might not love him anymore. It could be in the past, but that doesn’t seem likely. Why would he bring it up if he didn’t still feel that way? Then again, he was drunk when he was babbling last night.

The more Steve thinks about it, the more it hurts his head. He still doesn’t have answers, even after spending the whole night going over the conversation and the years before the war and the time during the war. The years after HYDRA consume his mind more than anything else, though.

When did Bucky remember his feelings for Steve? Was it after they found him in Bucharest? Was it sooner than that? Has he been keeping it to himself for long, or is this a newly resurfaced memory?

The water runs near-freezing before Steve finally gets out. He’s shivering, teeth chattering, and the sensation is reminiscent of the times prior to the serum when he was always ill. The pneumonia was the worst; there were a few winters where he was certain he wouldn’t live to see the spring, not with how bad his symptoms were. But Bucky was by his side the entire time. He refused to leave despite his risk of getting sick as well.

Then it hit Steve: has Bucky been in love with him since they were teens?

It couldn’t be.

Wrapped in his towel, Steve cautiously opens the door to inspect his room: it’s Bucky-free. The coast is clear. At least for now. He slowly dresses.

When he enters their kitchenette, his eyes land on Bucky nursing a coffee mug. That reminds him of the one he got yesterday, likely still tucked in his hiding spot until Bucky was in a decent—and sober—mood to be gifted a present.

Bucky’s hair is disheveled and tangled, his body folds in on itself, and is he… shaking?

The guilt washes over Steve like being hit by a tidal wave in the ocean; it’s enough to make his breathing stop altogether, and he has to pause in the entryway to gain his composure.

“Made you a cup too. Straight black, the way you like it,” mumbles Bucky from his seat at the countertop, startling his companion.

“Oh… thanks, Buck….”

The gesture tugs at Steve’s heartstrings and gives him a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. It doesn’t make any sense, not a lick. Maybe his guilt is manifesting differently, but a small voice in the back of his brain says that’s not true.

He crosses over to their machine and picks up his beverage. The coffee isn’t cold but it isn’t piping hot either, the perfect temperature to drink consistently without raising suspicion. Steve’s skin crawls and prickles, making him shift back and forth on his feet in an attempt to soothe his anxiety.

The two don’t look at each other directly. They steal glances whenever the other isn’t looking.

_ He’s so beautiful,  _ Steve thinks, and it takes him by surprise, choking on his drink when the thought crosses his mind. As he coughs, Bucky gives him a bewildered look but doesn’t say anything.

However awkward he feels, Steve can’t help but assume Bucky isn’t acting any different from his day-to-day behavior (besides managing a hangover).

He must have forgotten the conversation they had last night. Steve is both relieved and dejected by it, but there’s nothing he can really do. If Bucky forgot, then he forgot, and Steve doesn’t want to bring it to life again.

A coward, Steve calls himself.

 

He’s done it again. Steve can tell from Bucky’s crumpled posture, lack of attentiveness, and slow movements; he remembers the mannerisms like he remembers basic math: Bucky’s drunk. The second day in a row, Steve hopes this doesn’t become a regular occurrence, doesn’t know if he can handle seeing his friend as an alcoholic, seeing his friend hurt so bad.

When he strolls around the couch and stands in front of Bucky, his mouth forms into a frown. His friend isn’t crying like last night, but that doesn’t make it much easier. He looks to be on the verge of tears, and it breaks Steve’s heart all over again. He didn’t have the chance to speak; Bucky takes the first word.

“I got out because of you, Stevie.”

_ Stevie.  _ There it is once more, that nickname. It rolls off his tongue so easily when he’s drunk, so why can’t he do it when he’s sober?

Mouth dry, Steve says, “I don’t understand.”

“The Soldier was gonna kill you— _ I _ was gonna kill you—but then you said those words… and it came back to me.” Bucky takes a deep breath, practically gulping for air, and his voice warbles as he speaks, “I said that to you s’many years ago, and—and it was my way of tellin’ you that I love you because I couldn’t say the real thing.”

_ Oh. _

Then there’s a swelling in Steve’s chest; his heart presses against his ribcage. A tingling runs through his spine, a bolt of lightning scorching his body. The realization hits him like a ton of bricks; it knocks the wind right out of him. He….

“I—”

Bucky hushes him, eliminating the chance of rejection. “Don’t,” he says quietly, softly, “just don’t.”

“Don’t what?” asks Steve, gently sitting beside his friend.

“Don’t tell me that you don’t love me…. I-I don’t know what I would do with myself.”

“Buck, I’m in love with you. I’m sorry it took me so long to recognize it, but I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

In between each utterance of that three letter phrase, Steve presses a kiss on Bucky’s body. First, it’s his knuckles, then the inside of his wrist, and finally his lips. Before Steve could pull away to declare his love again, Bucky holds the back of his neck and kisses him.

It’s cheesy, but Steve is convinced that sparks fly as their mouths slot together. He feels the fire start in his toes and creep up his legs into his belly, eventually settling in his chest. Everything’s up in a blaze, and he couldn’t care less about getting burnt because it’s Bucky, for God’s sake. Nothing he does could ever steer Steve away, absolutely nothing. That’s how it’s always been. They follow each other, whether by choice or not; one could travel into the depths of Hell and the other would be close behind without hesitation.

When they part, Bucky’s trembling. He grasps onto Steve’s shoulder with a worrying tightness, as if he’s trying to anchor himself in reality. Bringing his hands to cup Bucky’s cheeks, Steve says, “Hey, what’s wrong? I’m here… I’m right here.”

Tears spill over, and Bucky swallows harshly. His voice quivers as he whispers, “If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up—please don’t let this be a dream—let this be real, please.”

Wordlessly, Steve draws Bucky into his chest and lets him cry. He doesn’t know what to say because it’s not a dream, certainly not, but he can’t think of anything to comfort Bucky. They are silent for a long time.

“Please….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are much appreciated; it lets me know you like my work, and it helps me stay motivated to write.


End file.
